


the day after March 12, 1938

by Ashling



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: F/M, Family, Foreshadowing, Gen, Post-Canon, Week of Ficlets, Week of Ficlets: Unforgotten 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25168294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/pseuds/Ashling
Summary: Rilla is much preoccupied with convincing her daughter to go to a party.
Relationships: Bertha Marilla "Rilla" Blythe & Original Female Character(s), Bertha Marilla "Rilla" Blythe/Kenneth Ford
Comments: 10
Kudos: 9





	the day after March 12, 1938

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Unforgotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforgotten/gifts).



Rilla was as pleased as she was puzzled to have a budding genius for a daughter, but at times like these, she did wish the girl was a little bit, just a tiny little bit stupider. 

“You know Pico della Mirandola probably never had to wash a dish in his life,” her daughter was saying, with a stubborn set to her mouth. “None of the Renaissance men did, they all got to hole up in their Italian estates and study whatever they liked—”

“I’m sure they went to parties,” put in Rilla, with staunch confidence for a woman who didn’t know Pico della Mirandola from Adam. 

“—and that’s how they had all that time to write. I’m not going to shirk the housework because I’m not that selfish, but you can’t expect me to drop everything if it’s for something as silly as a dance. Nobody achieved anything great by doing it in half-hour increments, twice a week.”

“Greatness is overrated,” said Rilla recklessly, and then, to the upturned flick of dark eyes, “Oh, I know, everyone’s still wondering how _I’m_ the mother and _you’re_ the daughter—but come on, Leslie-baby, it’s a full moon tonight. There’s got to be a little Dionysus in you yet.”

“Dionysus is parties, Artemis is the moon, mother.”

“And girls running round in forests, presumably having a good time. Just this one night, Leslie. The books will keep forever, but full moons and shore dances rarely ever coincide.”

“Go yourself, if you like it so much!”

“It’s not about me—Ken!”

And there he was, smiling in the open doorway. There were streaks of silver in his hair, a couple packages from the post office in his arms, and the smell of sea salt in his clothes, familiar and comforting. He dropped a kiss on Leslie’s forehead, which she accepted while she was clearly thinking of how to turn his appearance to her advantage.

“I don’t really have to go to this thing, do I, Dad?” she said. Genius in the making or no, she was still fourteen and not above a bit of wheedling.

“What thing?” Ken dumped the packages onto the counter and sat down at his chair, accepting his cup of tea from Rilla with a customary but heartfelt kiss. Then he took a look at the paper.

“It’s just a shore dance, and I’ve been to loads of them before,” said Leslie. “There’s nothing to see.”

“Although she hasn’t been out almost all spring,” put in Rilla, “and her friends will all be there. You do like seeing your friends, don’t you, Leslie?”

“I see them in school! It’s the same thing. Right, Dad?”

After a moment of silence, Ken looked up from the newspaper. “Sorry?” he said. “I didn’t hear.”

“Tell her she’s only young once,” said Rilla.

“Your mother’s right,” said Ken. He looked tired. “Do as she says, please, Leslie.”

Leslie gaped. “But you’re supposed to be the reasonable one!”

“Not today, I’m afraid,” said Ken. He offered her a smile, but it wasn’t much of a smile.

His daughter was too wrapped up in her own indignation to notice. “Fine,” she said, and stormed out the door.

“Don’t you want to change into something nice before you go?” Rilla called after her, even though she already knew the answer.

“No!” The door slammed after her.

Ken picked up the newspaper again, and Rilla went to go make a cup of tea herself. Presently, she was sitting beside him, with his arm round her shoulders and her knitting needles flashing as fast as they could.

“I thought you’d already read about it,” she said, when Ken put down the paper.

“No. Alec Mead phoned me early this morning, so I left in a rush.”

It was quiet in the little blue Ford house. It was quiet for a long time.

Eventually, Rilla spoke. “I know it’s an awful thing to say,” she murmured, “and I could never say it to anyone but you, but oh, Ken, I’m so glad we don’t have sons.” Her voice was so thick, it was lucky she had nothing left to say.

Ken’s arm tightened round her, and she leaned into him. “I know, Rilla-my-Rilla,” he said into her hair. “Me too.”


End file.
